Saturday, September 15, 2012

Poet Laureate: A Poem for Hillsborough

THE Cathedral bell, tolled, could never tell;

nor the Liver Birds, mute in their stone spell;

or the Mersey, though seagulls wailed, cursed, overhead,

in no language for the slandered dead...

not the raw, red throat of the Kop, keening,

or the cops’ words, censored of meaning;

not the clock, slow handclapping the coroner’s deadline,

or the memo to Thatcher, or the tabloid headline...

but fathers told of their daughters; the names of sons

on the lips of their mothers like prayers; lost ones

honoured for bitter years by orphan, cousin, wife -

not a matter of football, but of life.

Over this great city, light after long dark;

truth, the sweet silver song of the lark.  

This is a poem written by the Poet Laureate, Carol Ann Duffy, on the wake of the new report into the Hillsborough Disaster in 1989. 
This post is dedicated to the 96 innocent people who lost their lives that day.  As well as their families and loved ones who have been forced to live for so long without being allowed the justice of knowing that their loved ones died at the fault of others.
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Unpublished Life said...

What an awful tragedy ... I did a lot of research on Hillsborough a while back - and it still sends shivers down my spine ... thanks for the post!

Tami Rebekah said...

oh thats tragic.

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